"This is your f-fault," Fitz shivered grumpily, scowling at Simmons. He sat beside her on the bench in the tiny room they were going to be stuck in for the next several hours. A white towel was wrapped around his trembling body, his hair still dripping and plastered to his head, darker than it normally was because it was wet. She would have felt sorry for him if he hadn't been grumbling like an angry squirrel whose winter stash had been disrupted and arbitrarily blaming her for the mess they'd found themselves in . She was soaked and freezing as well but she wasn't throwing out ridiculous accusations.
She snorted at him. "My f-fault? How is any of this m-my fault?" she demanded irritably, rubbing her arms to warm herself.
"Well I didn't want to c-come here at all," he argued stubbornly, hugging himself to keep from shivering. "Then you had drag me into this disease ridden death trap."
"The SHIELD Centre for Disease Control is not a death trap," she objected impatiently. "And don't pretend I forced you to come, you wanted to see the negative pressure ventilator and the scanning electron microscope. An hour and a half ago you said you were having fun."
"I was having fun," he snapped back. "And then you just had to flash that shiny new badge of yours-"
"You have the exact same one," she huffed.
"And get us into the restricted section," he continued to rant "and then-"
"How was I suppose to know the ledge was unstable?" she defended, their agitation warming them up so that both had stopped shivering . "That there was loose bolt? It isn't my fault it gave way over that vat of unidentified sludge and I certainly didn't ask you to run up and grab my arm-"
"Yeah? Well what was I suppose to do, let you fall in?" he shot back. "That wasn't going to happen." he muttered.
She sighed, softening slightly at what he'd said. "We're here now," she told him, her tone gentler, hoping he'd stop arguing. "Might as well make the best of it."
"Do you think they'll give us back our clothes?" he wondered, taking her truce, his voice lower. "This hospital gown isn't warm enough. Did they really need to spray us with water colder than the poles of Mars? I have goosebumps!"
"They'll probably need to decontaminate them," she guessed unhappily. "I don't think we'll get them back until we leave."
He groaned and lay back on the bench. "We didn't even have time for lunch," he lamented. "And now we're going to die, freezing in this tiny room with nothing to eat."
"We aren't going to die," she assured him, rolling her eyes.
"We fell into a vat of unidentified sludge at the SHIELD CDC and two men in Hazmat suits blasted us with arctic ice water before taking our blood and shoving us in here," he reminded her darkly. "I'd say we have cause to worry."
"It's probably nothing," she insisted, a little daunted but trying not show it because if she allowed herself to appear frightened he was going to panic and she was going to be stuck in the eight by ten foot room with him grumbling and shooting out conspiracy theories for the next five to six hours. "At least it wasn't a vat of identified deadly alien virus," she joked but he wasn't amused.
He covered his face with his hand. "I can't believe we went through all those years of schooling just to end up-"
"At Sci-Ops?" she finished, determinedly optimistic. "Fitz we'll be fine," she asserted.
"You d-don't know that," he contested, teeth chattering again as he sat up, eyes wide. "We could be infected with anything right now, we could-"
Without warning his eyes clouded and he toppled over, sliding off the bench and landing unconscious on the tile floor with a thud.
"Fitz!" she cried, alarmed and rushing to make sure he hadn't hurt himself, kneeling next to him as she checked him for injuries. "Help!" She shouted, holding his head up, her heart beating out of control. "We need help!"
What the hell had they fallen into?
/-/-/
"How are you feeling?" she asked, an extra bit of sweetness in her voice, probably because she was worried and trying not to show it.
"Dizzy," he answered, holding his head. "And my legs feel really heavy."
He was on the floor of the room, they'd given him a sleeping bag and a few pillows, one of which he'd offered Simmons to sit on.
She nodded, mouth forced into a false smile before she turned to the camera watching them. "Have the tests come back yet?" she inquired.
They'd taken more blood while he was unconscious, from both of them, just in case. However, to his immense relief, Simmons hadn't shown any symptoms and he told himself that it meant she wasn't sick. It comforted him to know that at least she'd be alright.
Fitz, on the other hand, was in serious trouble, filled up with some horrible Hulk-powered toxin or infected with some unidentified deadly vat virus. Why he had it and she didn't was a mystery, though he recalled getting some of the foul sludge into his mouth. It tasted awful, like rotting feet, whatever those tasted like (he certainly wasn't in the habit of nibbling on old feet like some sort of zombie, it was a straight diet of people-food for him) but it was vat sludge and he reasoned it was bound to taste awful. It must have been a rule or something.
"Everything is coming back normal," the man told her over the intercom.
"Yeah, I pass out every day," he muttered.
"And you're testing the sludge as well?" she demanded, her usual sunny voice slightly overcast with grey clouds. "I can help-"
"You need to stay in there," he insisted firmly, interrupting her. "We have good people on it," he promised.
"OK," she agreed nervously, forcing a smile again as she turned back to him. "See, they have good people on it," she repeated. "No need to worry," she reached out to him, her hand moving towards his shoulder.
"Don't," he warned and she drew back her arm, confused.
"I don't want you to catch it," he explained. "There's no point in us both being sick, in fact," he went on, frightened of his next words but finding the courage to speak them for Simmons' sake, "you should ask to be put in another room."
"I'm not doing that," she contested stubbornly.
"But Simmons-" he pressed.
"No," she cut him off sharply. "I'm not doing that, it's ridiculous, so don't ask me again. If I have it, I have it and if I don't I'm not getting it."
He wasn't sure she was telling the truth but he realized he wasn't going to be able to argue with her.
"Just... try and keep your hands off me then," he joked and she smiled at him for real.
"Maybe if we had something to do," she decided. "It wouldn't be so-
"boring in here," he finished.
"Yes... boring," she agreed.
She looked towards the camera again. "Can we have some... ummm paper please," she requested.
"And a pen, or two pens," he added, in case they thought he and Simmons wanted to do origami or something and only brought the paper.
"OK sure," the man across the intercom complied. "It'll be a few minutes."
"There we go," she chirped to Fitz. "Soon we'll be playing tic tac toe,"
"Or SOS," he put in.
"Or even battleship," she included, another false smile. (Why was she even putting up the effort? They both knew it wasn't real.)
"I do like battleship," he remarked.
/-/-/
Twenty minutes later they had eight pens, a stack of paper and were at the end of a game of battle ship, Simmons was almost completely sunk and he only had half a ship left.
"Hello," a voice across the intercoms greeted. "We have an update for you," she announced formally.
They stopped their game, attention on her. Simmons was chewing on her lip and he rolled a scrap piece of paper in his hand anxiously.
"There is a virus present in the sludge," she informed them. "We haven't yet identified it but it seems as if we will need to keep you here a little longer. I am sorry for the inconvenience.
"Inconvenience?" Fitz repeated angrily. "Are we infected? Simmons isn't infected is she? It's just me right? A virus... oh no, I'm going to die," he worried, a lump forming in his stomach as he went through all the awful viruses he knew, rabies, small pox, Asgardian-influenza and he found it suddenly difficult to breathe.
He took in several, gasping breaths, panicking.
"No, no you're not," Simmons tried to reassure him, lifting her hand to touch him again before remembering he didn't want her to and placing it on her lap. "He's fine right?" she inquired, looking up at the camera. "Everything came back normal."
"This... is not... normal...," he wheezed. His head was aching and he struggled to wiggle his toes, his legs felt very heavy.
"We will update you when we know more," she told them. "Please try and relax."
"Relax?!" he exclaimed.
Simmons grabbed her towel and draped it over her hand before offering it out to him. He took it and she squeezed his through the fabric, calming him slightly as he felt the shape of her fingers, and his breathing evened out.
"We'll be fine," she asserted but he didn't believe her.
"You'll be fine," he corrected. "I need some more paper and a pen. Would you mind..." she was already retrieving it for him.
"It doesn't make any sense though," she frowned, handing them too him and sitting back down. "Why would you become sick and not me? I fell in too."
"Feeling left out?" he kidded, releasing her towel hand and beginning to write.
She peered over his shoulder and he blushed.
"Er... this is sort of... private..." he told her awkwardly.
She raised her eyebrows. "Private?"
"It's my will," he let her know solemnly, "You know... for when I-"
"Fitz!" she groaned. "You're not-"
"Just in case," he insisted.
She sighed. "Fine, but why hide it from me? What don't I know about you? Are you a secret superhero? Are you leaving instructions behind for your protege?" she chuckled.
"I could be," he grumbled as she tried once again to see what he'd written. "Simmons stop."
"Fine," she grumbled back, sitting on her pillow and beginning to doodle.
"What are you doing?" he asked, gazing up curiously.
"It's private," she told him, grinning impishly.
"What, are you drawing, the future?" he teased. "Do you have secret superpowers and whatever you draw happens?"
She shrugged and went back to what she was doing. After a minute, when she thought he wasn't looking, she craned her head over to look again at what he was writing.
"You can't see my will Simmons," he asserted, drawing it closer to him.
"Oh c'mon Fitz," she pleaded. "I'd show you mine."
"That's isn't the point," he muttered.
"What is the point then?" she asked nosily. "What in the world are you putting in it?"
"The point is, it's private," he shot back and she rolled her eyes as he attempted to continue.
"But I'm your best friend," she argued, crossing her arms.
"Yeah and you're in it," he told her absently, writing away as neatly as he could.
"I'm in it?" she chirped.
"Simmons can you just..." he sighed. "Can you just let me finish the damn thing."
"Fine," she complied, frowning as she returned to her doodle.
He was almost done with his final sentence when the woman rang out over the intercom. "We have identified the virus, you are both fine. You may leave."
There was a click as the door unlocked and they grinned at each other, relieved before Simmons darted forward to give him a quick, tight hug.
"But then what's wrong with me?" he inquired, frowning.
"The virus was identified as Mono-hysteria virus," she explained. "It's an Asgardian virus left over from when they came thousands of years ago, it's harmless except that..."
"Except that it can induce symptoms in people who panic," Simmons finished, grin widening. "Like mass hysteria."
"I am not hysterical," he denied, crossing his arms as the blood rose up in his cheeks.
"Oh, but Fitz, don't you understand?" she smiled. "You're fine, there's nothing wrong with you." She hugged him again. "You had me worried for a minute there," she admitted.
His headache was dissapearing and, embarrassed, he found he could once again move his legs easily. Simmons, at least, wasn't making fun of him for it but if anyone at Sci-Ops knew he was sure he'd have to transfer. And they'd only just started there too...
"Could you not... Could you not tell anyone about this?" he requested as she released him. "Can we keep it-"
"Private?" she teased, chuckling at him. "There's no shame in it, you thought you were sick and you panicked, it's a perfectly natural-"
"Simmons please," he begged.
"Alright," she conceded.
He looked back down at his will, wondering if he should keep it. Then he decided he could write a better one later, crumpled it up an tossed it into their tiny metal recycling pail. "Let's get out of here," he said, rising to his feet.
/-/-/
"We forgot the battleship game," Simmons said suddenly when they were halfway down the hall.
"Do we really need it?" he asked, peering longingly at the other end. "I'm so hungry-"
"I was winning," she insisted.
"You were not," he objected. "I had a plan."
"A plan? What sort of plan?" she chuckled. "Was it a-"
"Do not say private," he warned and she giggled at him as he pouted.
"I'll be right back," she promised, darting back towards the room.
She scooped up their game, eager as he was to finally go home. Maybe they could order some pizza (her stomach grumbled) and play another game of battleship, on the real board this time.
Before she left, her eyes drifted to the recycling pail. She really shouldn't... it wasn't any of her business. Except that part of it was about her, he was keeping secrets about her so didn't she deserve to know what they were?
It wasn't really a good excuse but her curiosity won over her discretion and, after a nervous glance towards the door she shoved her hand into the pail to retrieve the will, uncrumpled it and read it over.
'Dear Cherished family and friends: Mum, Grandmother and Simmons,' it began. 'I know you will (be very sad was written but crossed out) miss me a lot, but you should know that even though I was scared, I wasn't alone. Simmons was with me and she held my hand, through a towel of course, no need to quarantine her again, and it wasn't so bad.'
Simmons smiled at that, glad she'd been able to make him feel better, even if it had all been in his head. The truth was, he'd made her feel better too, simply by being with her.
She scrolled down the page, past what he'd written to his mum and the long list of items he was giving away. All of his schematics and tools went to her (which she was flattered by), as well as his monkey figurine collection (which she had no idea what she would have done with except perhaps keep it in her room as a simian reminder of her dearest friend's quirkier side.)
The end of the note was addressed to her and it was messy, several lines scratched out so intently that they were unreadable. What was left read:
'Dear Simmons,
I am immensely grateful for your partnership and for your friendship. If only one of us was going to survive, I'm glad it was you. Don't be too sad, this wasn't your fault, it was an accident. You aren't the reason I died, you're the reason I lived. Without you I wouldn't have gone on that ride at the carnival last year, or tried chocolate covered jube-jubes or gone sledding this past winter because I thought I was too old for it. I loved it, I loved all of it, and, most importantly, I love you. You're my light, my best friend, you're m-'
He'd stopped writing, she'd reached the point where they'd been cleared to leave, but she didn't need any more even if she did wonder how he had planned on finishing. It didn't matter, that had been just about the sweetest thing he'd ever told her.
/-/-/
She caught up with Fitz, they changed back into their clothes, and together they left the building.
Simmons was feeling guilty, she hated keeping secrets especially from Fitz and she didn't think she could avoid him finding out that she'd read his will. Something was going to slip out, she was sure of it. Besides, he had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing was in there that he needed to hide from her and on top of that, she had something she wanted to say to him.
"I love you too," she told him, not turning to face him but seeing him redden out of the corner of her eye.
"You-" he gasped.
"Yes," she admitted. "I read it, it was very sweet."
"But... Simmons!" he groaned, pausing between two cars to stare disapprovingly at her. "Fine but you can't tell anyone OK?" he insisted, grateful he hadn't had time to finish what he'd been writing about her. They'd be having an very different conversation if he had. "Or about the hysteria."
"I won't," she promised. "I wouldn't do that to you."
"What happens in quarantine," he began.
"Stays in quarantine," she finished, grinning at him and linking arms as they continued to the car.
/-/-/
a negative pressure ventilator is also known as an Iron Lung and was once used to treat people with polio, helping them breath. It actully works the same way your body does, creating negative pressure around the lungs so they expand, have a negative pressure inside of them and pull in air. (I hope I explained that OK, I am not the best at physics)
A scanning electron microscope is a microscope which uses a beam of electrons to produce highly magnified images of tiny things such as bacteria at high resolution.
There is a reference to the science fiction series Fringe in this story, it is the drawing pictures that tell the future. In a forth season episode there is a girl who draws people's deaths before they happen.
Mass hysteria is a real thing, it means the spontaneous manifestation of symptoms in more than one person who isn't actually sick (in this story it is mono-hysteria because it occurs in only one person). All the symptoms Fitz had have happened in cases of mass hysteria but I made it so it was caused by a virus because it was only him getting sick and I thought that would make more sense.